RHYMES 


OF 


YANKEE  LAND. 


BY 


AELLA    GREENE 


SPRINGFIELD,  MASS. : 
WHITNEY    &     ADAMS 
1872. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872,  by 

AELLA   GREENE, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


SAMUEL    BOWLES   &    COMPANY, 

PRINTERS,    BINDERS,    AND   ELECTROTYPERS, 

SPRINGFIELD,    MASS. 


TO 

MY    NEW    ENGLAND    FRIENDS, 

AT    HOME   AND    WESTWARD, 

I    Dedicate 

THESE 

"RHYMES    OF    YANKEE    LAND." 


M191S45 


CONTENTS, 


THE  SMITHVILLE  WORTHIES  :  PAGE. 

SQUIRE  SMITH, 9 

DOCTOR  BLISS,      .         .         .         .        .        ,         .17 

THE  VILLAGE  SCHOOL-MASTER,     .         .        .         .21 

CRISPIN  CRANE,  .......     25 

MR.  JONES,  THE  SMITH,       .         .        t        .        .38 
ABIJAH  BEERS,      .......     41 

LIGHT  FROM  DARK: 

INTO  THE  SUNSHINE,    .        .  .        .         -45 

REST  IN  WORK, 47 

"YEA,  WELCOME  GRIEF," 50 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

"  How  BLESSED  AND  TRUE  THE  BELIEF,"    .         .     ^3 
"  THE  SUGAR  CAMP  IN  EARLY  SPRING,"      .         .56 

MISCELLANEOUS  : 

MY  COMRADE'S  GRAVE, 61 

A  TRIBUTE, 62 

THE  SWEETHEART, 64 

A  MODEL  SUNDAY-SCHOOL,  .         .         .         .     66 

WHEN  You  AND  I  WERE  BOYS,  ....     68 

THE  YANKEE  WESTWARD,     ..        .         .         .         .73 

THE  CRITICS,        .         .  .  .        -77 

CHICAGO'S  TRIAL  BY  FIRE,  .....     79 

"THE  PAPER,"      ...  82 


THE 

SMITHVILLE   WORTHIES. 


SQUIRE   SMITH. 

Mister  Smith  of  Smithville  died 
Two  weeks  ago  to-day ; 
We  always  thought  the  person  lied 
Who  said  he'd  pass  away. 

With  buoyant  step,  and  fragrant  breath, 

And  face  with  health  aglow, 
He  seemed  no  older  near  his  death 

Than  twenty  years  ago. 

But  gone  he  has,  at  last,  from  earth, 

As  every  mortal  must, 
Of  noble  or  of  lowly  birth, 

Unrighteous  they,  or  just. 


IO  SQUIRE    SMITH. 

Though  it  may  seem  as  useless  quite, 

To  weep  and  make  ado, 
Still,  I  have  thought  it  well  to  write 

Of  him  a  rhyme  or  two. 

Possessing  not  a  noted  name, 
Nor  piles  of  treasure  high, 

He  yet  enjoyed  of  pelf  and  fame 
A  moderate  supply. 

For  comely  speech,  and  good  intent, 

And  for  his  neat  attire, 
The  villagers  with  one  consent, 

Regarded  him  as  "  Square." 

Attending  church  on  Sabbath  days, 
As  everybody  should, 


SQUIRE    SMITH.  I  I 

He  joined  in  all  the  prayer  and  praise, 
As  pious  people  would. 

Within  the  week  he  walked  down  town, 

On  pleasant  afternoons, 
Wearing  a  modest  suit  of  brown, 

And  humming  quiet  tunes. 

He  kept  his  temper  all  the  while, 

In  weather  dry  or  wet ; 
And  had  a  penny,  or  a  smile, 

For  every  child  he  met. 

Of  joy  his  heart  the  source  and  spring, 

To  him  no  dark  nor  wrong  ; 
He  seemed  from  bitterest  grief  to  bring 

The  melody  of  song. 


12  SQUIRE    SMITH. 

At  inns  he  never  lingered  much, 

For  beer  and  greater  grog ; 
When  coming  home  from  clubs  and  such, 

Was  never  in  a  fog. 

The  Squire  no  stated  calling  had, 

A  "jack  at  every  trade;" 
At  neither  one  was  reckoned  bad, 

But  quite  a  figure  made. 

Three  years  a  farmer's  life  he  led  ; 

There  seemed  to  him  a  charm, 
To  gain  his  raiment  and  his  bread, 

By  managing  a  farm. 

For  several  years  he  kept  a  school, 
In  an  adjoining  place ; 


SQUIRE    SMITH.  13 


Maintaining  there  a  pleasant  rule, 
With  dignity  and  grace. 

He  also  wrote  a  little  book 

About  his  native  town, 
That  had  a  literary  look, — 

Done  up  in  covers  brown. 

To  Washington  he  never  went, 
As  statesman  had  no  forte  ; 

Yet  twice  had  been  as  juror  sent, 
And  once  to  General  Court ! 

He  did  not  take  to  allopaths, 
As  would  some  other  men, 

But  patronized  cold  water  baths, 
And  sometimes  took  cayenne. 


14  SQUIRE    SMITH. 

He  spurned  a  miser  as  a  thief, 
And  acted,  "on  the  square;" 

Though  not  a  Mason,  my  belief 
Is  Smith  had  once  been  there. 

He  kept  his  courage  always  up, 
And  kept  his  record  clear; 

Kept  only  water  in  his  cup, 
And  kept  his  wife  so  dear. 

He  kept  of  Sabbaths  fifty-two  ; 

Kept  everything  of  worth ; 
Kept  more  than  most  of  people  do, 

And  always  kept  "the  Fourth." 

He  kept  his  course  with  ease  and  grit ; 
Kept  all  he  thought  or  heard, 


SQUIRE    SMITH. 

That  was  for  keeping  really  fit ; 
And  always  kept  his  word. 

Smith  led  a  quiet,  even  life, 

And  died  at  seventy-four ; 
Leaving  to  mourn  him  his  good  wife, 

And  grown  up  children  four.   *• 

And  on  that  saddest  funeral  day, 
There  gathered  at  his  bier, 

A  thousand  friends,  as   true  and  tried, 
As  ever  shed  a  tear. 

Within  the  churchyard,  'neath  a  yew, 
They  made  his  grave  with  care  ; 

And  lingeringly  they  bade  adieu, 
With  sorrow,  and  with  prayer. 


1 6  SQUIRE    SMITH. 

Ye  better  bards,  to  whom  belong 
High  themes  and  lofty  verse, 

Still  deem  as  not  unworthy  song, 
The  life  these  lines  rehearse. 

Although  a  humble  man  was  he, 
Our  Smith  was  still  a  man ; 

As  good  on  earth  we  seldom  see, 
And  better,  never  can. 


DOCTOR   BLISS. 

r  I  ^HE  people  were  so  seldom  sick 

That  it  was  very  true, 
The  one  physician  in  the  town 
Had  not  enough  to  do. 

This  doctor  was  a  gentleman, 

Of  average  grace  and  wit, 
Who  studied  just  six  years,  until 

For  practice  fully  fit. 

Then  took  his  "sheep-skin"  and  his  leave, 

And  unto  Smithville  went, 
There  hung  his  shingle  out,  and  lived 

Until  his  days  were  spent. 


I  8  DOCTOR    BLISS. 

Although  an  allopath,  he  felt 

Not  very  much  inclined, 
To  be  at  odds  with  those  who  had 

A  different  course  in  mind. 

Indulging  patients  in  their  whims, 

He  seldom  would  refuse 
Such  mild  "botanies"  as  their  friends 


Might  deem  it  best  to  use. 


He  was  so  kind,  this  Doctor  Bliss, 
To  press  him  there  to  stay, 

The  townsmen  all  agreed  by  vote, 
A  salary  to  pay. 

That  potent  medicine,  a  smile, 
He  carried  everywhere, 


DOCTOR    BLISS.  19 

To  cheer  the  sick,  and  drive  away 
That  worst  of  curses,  care. 

A  wit  declared,  and  it  was  true, 

When  sickness  was  about, 
The  doctor,  walking  through  the  town, 

Could  look  the  sickness  out. 

There  is  a  legend  wide  extant, 

Once  Death  came  walking  by, 
The  doctor  challenged  him  to  fight 

And  made  the  monster  fly. 

But  Bliss,  devoted  to  the  art 

Of  making  people  well, 
To  sickness  and  to  medicine, 

At  last,  a  victim  fell. 


2O  DOCTOR   BLISS. 

He  loved  the  Squire,  and  looked  like  him, 

Clad  trim  in  brown  attire  ; 
Near  him  he  lived,  and  now  at  death, 

Is  buried  near  the  Squire. 


THE   VILLAGE   SCHOOL-MASTER. 

A    WORTHY  gentleman  in  town, 

Respected  and  revered, 
Was  William  Wilson,  learned  and  wise, 
A  teacher  born  and  reared. 

He  was  a  very  proper  man, 

Yet  cheerful  as  was  meet; 
None  were  more  knowing  in  the  place, 

Nor  any  so  discreet. 

The  little  school-house  where  he  taught 

For  twenty  years  and  more, 
Had  but  three  windows  on  a  side, 

And  one  above  the  door. 


22  THE    VILLAGE    SCHOOL-MASTER. 

• 

It  cost  six  hundred  dollars,  just, 

As  records  do  appear; 
And  yet  the  scholars  came  to  think 

The  place  was  very  dear. 

It  stood  upon  the  village  green, 
Hard  by  the  "  center  church  ; " 

Was  well  supplied  with  furniture, 
But  unsupplied  with  birch. 

This  Wilson  had  a  better  way 
To  punish  recreant  boys, 

Who  had  been  lazy  at  their  books, 
Or  making  needless  noise. 

Within  a  very  "dreadful  book," 
Where  every  crime  had  grade  ; 


THE    VILLAGE    SCHOOL-MASTER.  23 

• 

For  every  wrong  a  scholar  did, 
So  many  checks  were  made. 

These  famous  checks  had  come  to  be 

Regarded  with  such  dread, 
Some  of  the  culprits  thought  it  were 

Far  better  to  be  dead. 

With  patience  and  with  kindly  care, 

He  led  his  pupils  through 
The  path  of  common  learning,  till 

They  every  feature  knew. 

And  oft,  perchance,  they  caught  a  glimpse 

Of  classic  grove  and  field, 
And  felt  a  longing  for  the  fruits 

Those  pleasant  regions  yield ; 


24  THE    VILLAGE    SCHOOL-MASTER 

But  Euclid  and  "the  languages," 
In  district  schools  of  yore, 

Were  all  discarded  and  forbid, 
As  very  useless  lore. 

Since  Wilson  gave  up  teaching  school, 
Ten  years  and  five  have  passed ; 

But  through  a  century  to  come 
His  influence  shall  last. 

He  still  resides  within  the  town  ; 

And  though  threescore  and  ten, 
The  people  all  declare  he  is 

The  comeliest  of  men. 


CRISPIN    CRANE. 

T  N  praise  of  one  whose  worth  and  wit 

The  Smithville  people  prize  ; 
Who,  by  a  timely  repartee, 
Found  favor  in  their  eyes : 

Disciple  of  St.  Crispin  he, 

And  christened  Crispin  Crane, 

He  mended  boots  and  shoes  for  folks, 
To  get  his  bread  and  gain. 

A  kind,  a  brave,  a  little  man, 

But  five  feet  tall  when  up, 
He  booted  well  each  man  that  came, 

And  then  would  ask  to  sup. 


26  CRISPIN    CRANE. 

His  dwelling  was  adjacent  to 
His  little  shop,  you  see ; 

So,  often,  did  his  customers 
"Drop  in"  to  take  some  tea. 

He  took  their  measure  in  the  shop 
When  guests,  they  came  to  find 

He  fully  had  the  power  to  take 
The  measure  of  their  mind. 

Full  often,  in  the  village  store, 
A  brainless,  brassy  brag, 

Did  all  the  village  people  bore, 
Defeating  wise  and  wag. 

The  townsmen  said,  "  If  any  man 
Will  squelch  that  dolt  and  fool, 


CRISPIN    CRANE. 

We'll  send  him  to  the  capitol, 
Or  fee  his  son  at  school." 

One  eve  he  boasted  loud  how  great 

His  understanding  was  ; 
1  Let  him  among  you  show  such  mind, 

A  greater  mind  who  has  ! " 

Said  Crane — and  pointed  to  his  feet — 
"  Your  'standings  large  !  forsooth  ; 

None  may  gainsay  the  fact,  for  I 
The  measure  took  of  both." 

Annihilation  is  no  name 

For  how  that  fellow  felt; 
He  hasted  out  and  little  boys 

With  pebbles  him  did  pelt. 


CRISPIN    CRANE. 

The  morrow  was  town-meeting  day, 
And  ere  the  time  was  spent, 

They  voted  all  that  Crane  should  be 
To  legislature  sent. 

He  proved  so  wise  a  little  man, 

So  jolly  with  his  friends, 
So  loth  to  speak,  and  always,  then, 

To  bring  about  good  ends, 

So  keen,  and  quick,  and  powerful,  too, 

A  boasting  man  to  floor ; 
Some  of  the  members  of  the  House, 

I  think  about  a  score, 

Drew  up  a  paper  in  due  form, 
And  set  it  to  their  "  fist," 


CRISPIN    CRANE.  2Q 

Of  which,  if  records  are  correct, 
The  following  is  the  gist: 

"  Good  Mister  Smith,  respected  Squire, 

And  friend  of  Crispin  Crane ; 
We  wish,  at  your  election,  you 
Would  send  him  here  again." 

He  went  again,  and  still  once  more, 

Until  six  times  in  all ; 
Nor  by  the  lures  of  lobby  men 

Did  he  from  honor  fall. 

'Twas  in  his  time  of  public  life 

A  party  rose  and  fell, 
Whose  bad  disaster  at  their  schemes 

'Tis  pleasurable  to  tell. 


3O  CRISPIN    CRANE. 

Late  in  the  term  a  question  rose 
This  party  called  the  test ; 

For  which  their  leader  spoke  at  length, 
With  artificial  zest; 

And  wound  his  closing  period  up 
To  show  "  How  blessed  the  land, 

When  'garjuns'  of  the  public  peace 
Labor  reformers  stand  ! " 

"  Labor  reformers  !  "  Crispin  quoth, 
"  That  means  too  proud  to  work ! 
And  rightly  named,  for  well  you  like 
Life's  burdens  all  to  shirk. 

"You're  all  adventurers  and  shams, 
Unknown  to  honest  toil, 


CRISPIN    CRANE.  3! 

Full  frequent  at  the  village  inns, 
And  in  the  cheaper  broils. 

"  Below  the  wrath  of  common  men, 

Too  cheap  for  ours  by  half, 
We'll  not  oppose  your  plannings,  but 
Explode  them  with  a  laugh ! " 

The  wit  that  beamed  in  Crispin's  eyes 

Put  all  in  merry  mood, 
As  rang  around  the  galleries 

One  soul-refreshing  "  Good  !  " 

The  gavel  man  forgot  to  rap, 

Reporters  dropped  their  notes, 
Some  member  moved  "the  question!"  and 

It  got  a  dozen  votes. 


32  CRISPIN    CRANE. 

And  that's  the  way  the  party  died 
By  this  sarcastic  Crane  ; 

And  hence  the  reason  he  was  sent 
To  General  Court  again. 

And  since  he  finished  there  for  all, 
And  closed  his  public  life, 

He's  just  as  busy  in  his  shop 
And  pleasant  to  his  wife. 

When  once  as  petit  juror  drawn, 

Crane  went  to  county  court, 
To  find  how  much  the  panel  work 


Was  his  delight  and  forte. 


The    court  was  held  in  meager  hall, 
Quite  hot  on  summer  days, 


CRISPIN    CRANE.  33 

And  in  its  age  so  trembling  weak 
'Tvvas  fastened  up  by  stays. 

The  judge  who  ruled  that  county  court 

Had  good  judicial  grace; 
He  spoke  melodiously,  but  wore 

A  stern,  though  sunny,  face. 

Serenely  beamed  through  glasses  bright, 

The  long-tried  county  clerk  ; 
Who  able  seemed  for  many  years 

To  swear  men  into  work. 

Across  the  court  room  from  his  chair 

Crane  saw,  in  buff  and  blue, 
The  sheriff  sit  in  dignity, 

A  pleasant  man  to  view. 
3 


34  CRISPIN    CRANE. 

To  try  a  foolish  case  about 

The  matter  of  a  "  V," 
It  cost  a  hundred  dollars,  just, 

Besides  the  lawyers'  fee. 

The  "great  case"  of  the  term  was  next 
Before  Crane's  panel  brought, 

In  which  a  citizen  his  claims 
Of  railway  people  sought. 

The  wooden  witnesses  were  turned 

By  crafty  lawyers  round, 
And  made  to  swear  that  light  was  dark, 

And  broken  cars  were  sound. 

The  lawyers,  next,  their  arguments 
Unto  his  honor  spoke  ; 


CRISPIN    CRANE.  35 

And  in  their  speech  most  fearfully 
The  ninth  commandment  broke. 

The  proper  judge,  polite  and  prompt, 

The  jurors  charged  full  clear ; 
And  they  a  verdict  gave,  unbought 

By  favor,  love,  or  fear. 

It  didn't  suit  defendants  much  ; 

To  make  a  greater  stench, 
They  vowed  to  carry  up  the  case 

Unto  the  fuller  bench. 

One  afternoon  there  came  a  lull 

In  business  of  the  court, 
As  lazy  lawyers  couldn't  get 

Their  clients  to  report. 


36  CRISPIN    CRANE. 

The  judge  evinced  a  wish  to  quit, 

And  bade  to  end  the  assize ; 

"  For  when  there  is  no  work  to  do, 

This  court  had  better  rise." 

The  crier  closed  the  court,  and  said, 
"  God  save  the  Commonwealth  ! " 

Opposing  lawyers  parted  friends, 
And  wished  each  other  health. 

Crane's  panel  parted  on  the  steps 

Of  that  low,  dingy  hall, 
With  little  hope  it  would  give  way 

To  comely  building  tall. 

The  public  men  who  had  in  charge 
The  matter  of  a  site, 


CRISPIN    CRANE.  37 

Had  passed  their  time  in  foolish  fuss 
That  grew  into  a  fight. 

That  dingy  court-house  stands  there  still ! 

A  relic  of  the  past ; 
Wherein  the  lawyers  show  their  wit, 

And  argue  questions  vast. 


MR.  JONES,   THE   SMITH. 

A     STALWART,  strong  and  cheerful  man, 

Our  village  Vulcan,  Jones, 
Was  no  exception  to  the. rule 

That  smiths  are  seldom  drones. 
From  morning  stars  till  evening  dews 

His  swinging  hammer  rang, 
In  keeping  with  the  words  and  tunes 
Of  ballads  which  he  sang. 

Around  his  shop  tall::  maples  grew 

And    robins    caroled  there, 
And  rose  and  daffodil  exhaled 

Their  sweetness  on  the  air. 


MR.    JONES,    THE    SMITH.  39 

The  gladdest  man  in  town,  he  saw 

More  sadness  than  the  rest, 
But  found  his  joy  in  frequent  work 

To  have  the  saddened  blest. 


The  humbler  people  of  the  place 

Esteemed  him  very  dear; 
And  men  of  higher  rank  than  Jones 

Have  sought  his  shop  for  cheer. 
Did  any  spealc  of  loss,  he  showed 

The  faith  which  never  tires  ; 
Or  tell  of  luck,  his  face  would  glow 

As  ruddy  as  his  fires. 

And  men  who  shine  as  millionaires 
And  rulers  in  the  land, 


4O  MR.    JONES,    THE    SMITH. 

Are  glad  to  say,  that,  years  ago, 

He  gave  a  helping  hand, 
And  spoke  the  words  of  cheer  that  gave 

Them  courage  for  the  fight, 
And  patience,  as  they  watched  through  dark 

The  coming  of  the  light. 

He  seeks  no  higher  station  than 

His  anvil  and  his  home; 
But  neighbors  think  he'll  have  high  place 

In  that  good  world,  to  come. 
His  life,  throughout,  an  argument 

How  grand  the  humble  man, 
In  meekness  who  performeth  all 

The  noble  deeds  he  can. 


ABIJAH    BEERS. 

'THROUGH  Smithville  was  so  blest  of  heaven, 

To  it  one  tedious  thorn  was  given. 
The  place  had  one  perfected  sinner, 
Most  surely  who  had  been  the  winner, 
Did  he  and  Satan  run  a  race 
On  any  course  away  from  grace. 
Supremely  mean  in  all  his  deeds ; 
His  heart  as  hard  as  flint ;  the  needs 
Caused  by  his  extortions  moved  him  not, 
The  pining  poor  were  all  forgot ; 
Selfish,  thick,  marble-faced  and  stern, 
Full  quick  to  sin,  and  apt  to  learn 
The  ways  of  avarice  and  wrong; 


42  ABIJAH    BEERS. 

On  primal  sin  improving  long, 
He  chose  oppression  for  his  art, 
And  practiced  it  with  all  his  heart ; 
His  sinning  cloaked  with  graciousness, 
And  cursed  when  he  appeared  to  bless. 
He  so  gifted  in  causing  tears 
Had  fitting  name,  Abijah  Beers. 
May  gods  protect  if  here,  again, 
So  bad  a  man  'mong  living  men ; 
And  there  was  not,  since  earth  began, 
So  much  of  meanness  in  a  man. 
The  liberals  declared  for  hell, 
Else  where  could  that  sinner  dwell. 
He  died  at  last  as  fools  do  die  ; 
Thistles  thrive  where  his  ashes  lie! 


LIGHT   FROM    DARK. 


INTO   THE   SUNSHINE. 


/^"^OME  to  the  sunshine  bringing  bloom, 

For  the  rose  there's  always  room  ; 
Come  to  the  sunshine  bringing  bloom. 

Out  from  darkness  and  from  night 
Into  the  beams  of  morning  light, 
Out  from  darkness  and  from  night. 

Into  the  sunshine  for  relief, 
Bring  the  troubled  sons  of  grief; 
Into  the  sunshine  for  relief. 

Into  the  sunshine  with  a  song, 

Grasp  their  hand  and  lead  them  strong 

Into  the  sunshine  with  a  song. 


INTO    THE    SUNSHINE. 

Bring  to  the  sunshine  of  your  trust ; 
If  they  succeed,  you  surely  must 
Bestow  the  sunshine  of  your  trust. 

Full  and  free,  to  all  impart 

The  sunshine  of  a  generous  heart ; 

Full  and  free  to  all  impart. 

Live  in  the  sunshine  while  you  live, 
And  unto  all  your  sunshine  give ; 
Live  in  the  sunshine  while  you  live. 

Into  the  sunshine  when  you  die, 
Into  the  sunshine  up  to  the  sky  ; 
Into  the  sunshine  when  you  die. 


REST   IN    WORK. 

H,  tell  me  some  secluded  place, 
Where,  weary  with  this  fitful  race, 
These  tired  limbs  awhile  may  rest, 
These  tired  eyes  with  sleep  be  blest, 
This  aching  heart  be  freed  from  cares, 
From  disappointments  and  despairs, 
And  breathe  there  o'er  my  soul  a  calm, 
Amid  the  fragrance  and  the  balm. 

Yet,  if  it  be  not  wise  to  rest ; 
If  calls  the  race  for  speed  and  zest, 
Or  shine  the  fields  with  harvest  white 
That  must  be  garnered  ere  the  night, 


48  REST    IN    WORK. 

My  feet  shall  run,  my  hands  shall  toil, 
No  sighs  for  rest  my  purpose  foil 
To  do  the  work  and  do  it  well. 
No  friends  so  fair  or  foes  so  fell 
Shall  win  or  fright  me  from  the  task, 
Nor  lessening  of  the  work  I'll  ask. 

I'll  bear  a  manly  part  in  life, 

Nor  fret  or  falter  in  the  strife  ; 

And,  spirit  crushed  or  heart  depressed, 

Yet  full  of  hope,  alive  with  zest, 

Protract  youth's  joys  far  into  age, 

Walk  royally  on  pilgrimage  ; 

Be  meek,  but  not  a  dolt  nor  slave  ; 

Patient  in  dole,  in  danger  brave  ; 

'Till,  blossomed  white  with  grief  or  joy, 

I  take  my  bliss  without  alloy. 


REST    IN    WORK.  49 

But  tell  me  some  sweet  resting-place, 
That  I  may  better  run  the  race  ; 
A  respite  give  awhile  from  pain, 
That  I  the  grief  may  bear  again. 
Yet  if  this  boon  be  still  denied, 
Oh  !  Thou  to  whom  none  fruitless  cried, 
Grant  me  at  least  one  sweet  relief; 
Since  there  are  ever  sons  of  grief, 
Grant  me  to  help  them  bear  the  load 
And  teach  to  tread  the  paths  I  trod ; 
In  sympathy  with  those  who  weep 
A  respite  from  my  sorrows  reap. 
4 


"YEA,  WELCOME   GRIEF." 

"\7EA,  welcome  grief  in  every  form, — 
Of  biting  blast  or  whelming  storm  ; 
The  streams  that  would  an  ocean  fill, 
Or  slow,  continuous,  wearing  rill; 
Or  trouble's  flail,  or  sorrow's  mill ; 
A  thorny  path  up  rocky  hill, 
Or  desert  sands  to  scorch  the  feet, 
Where  torrid  suns  in  fervor  beat; 
Or  barren,  drear,  and  sunless  plains, 
Where  gloomy  winter  monarch  reigns. 

Up  rocky  hills  sweet  arbors  are, 
And  not  a  flaming  sword  to  bar ; 


"  YEA,    WELCOME    GRIEF."  5  I 

And  shineth  still,  though  still  afar, 
Hope's  blessed,  bright,  benignant  star. 
Hot  deserts  their  oases  have  ; 
And,  crossed,  the  pleasant  plash  of  wave, 
And  sound  of  brooks,  and  warbling  grove, 
Shall  lift  the  pilgrim's  heart  above. 

The  true  man  says,  though  die  I  must, 
Till  death  I'll  keep  a  beaming  trust, 
Though  every  plan  should  fall  in  dust, 
And  choicest  treasures  yield  to  rust. 
Night  brings  the  day,  grief  bringeth  bliss  ; 
And  never  that  but  cometh  this. 
Peace  follows  war,  thorns  speak  the  rose  ; 
Fatigue  foreruns  a  sweet  repose  ; 
And  he  who  toils,  nor  seeks  for  rest, 
With  respite  from  his  work  is  blest. 


52  "YEA,    WELCOME    GRIEF." 

Or  this  the  doctrine  of  true  saints, 
That  he  who  hath  but  patient  plaints, 
And  interludes  his  woe  with  songs, 
To  royal  race  and  home  belongs ; 
And,  crowned,  shall  come  in  little  time 
To  thrones,  and  feast,  and  heavenly  chime  ; 
And  gain  within  this  earthly  clime, 
A  joy  above  all  harp  and  rhyme ! 


"HOW  BLESSED  AND  TRUE  THE  BELIEF." 

T  T  OW  blessed  and  true  the  belief, 

That  the  joy  which  comes  after  grief 
Is  sweeter,  and  never  so  brief 
As  other  joys. 

How  grandly  inspiring  the  thought, 
That  the  bliss  by  bitterness  bought, 
Is  nearer  to  heaven  than  aught 
On  earth  beside. 

How  sweet  after  storm  is  the  sun, 
And  rest  after  labor  is  done, — 
The  peace  that  by  battling  is  won, 
And  wealth,  by  toil. 


54  "HOW    BLESSED    AND    TRUE    THE    BELIEF." 

If  discouraged  and  distressed, 
With  sorrow  and  with  care  oppressed, 
And  sins  confessed  and  unconfessed, 
And  every  ill, 

The  heart  were  struggling  for  relief, 
And  found  no  succor  from  its  grief, 
In  buoyant  trust  and  bright  belief — 
How  sad  the  earth. 

But  rules  converse  of  these  obtain, 
Nor  mortal  suffered  yet  in  vain,  *  . 

A  trivial  nor  the  largest  pain, 
Nor  ever  will. 

So  let  the  troubled  take  good  heart, 
Learn  well  of  suffering  the  art, 


"HOW    BLESSED    AND    TRUE    THE    BELIEF."  55 

Nor  shun  to  share  a  generous  part 
In  life's  good  griefs. 

Right  where  unkindest  luck  o'ertakes, 
Our  happy  planning  rudely  breaks, 
Of  choicest  treasures  havoc  makes, 
We  shall  succeed. 

We  shall  succeed,  for  God  ordains, 
Whoever  suffers  loss  or  pains, 
Shall  reap  therefor  abundant  gains, 
The  interest  due. 

Of  none  the  Father  has  such  care, 
As  those  who  have  abundant  share 
Of  losses  and  of  griefs  to  bear, 
And  foes  to  meet. 


THE  SUGAR  CAMP  IN  EARLY  SPRING." 

r  I  "HE  sugar  camp,  in  early  spring, 

Was  fragrant  'neath  the  hill; 
Where  liquid  sweet,  from  maple  trees, 
Did  pleasantly  distill. 

Beneath  the  slab-roofed  shed  the  fires, 

O'er  which  the  kettles  hung, 
And  when  the  syrup  "grained"  in  time 

The  cranes  were  outward  swung ; 

Then  "  dips  "  of  waxen  sugar,  John, 

You  offered  to  the  girls, 
Two  smiling  dears  of  sweet  sixteen, 

With  innocence  and  curls. 


"THE  SUGAR  CAMP  IN  EARLY  SPRING."          57 

One  was  a  sister,  good  and  true, 

The  other  choicer  friend, 
Whom  afterwards  you  vowed  to  love, 

Till  earthly  days  should  end. 

And  now  the  kerchief  that  she  hemmed 

Is  moist  with  tears  you  shed, 
To    think  that  ere  the  wedding  day 

Your  bonnie  Jane  was  dead. 

And  so  you  sigh,  and  so  you  learn 

It  is  how  sadly  true, 
Our  choicest  good  and  dearest  friend 

Do  quickly  fade  from  view. 

But  every  day  you  live  to  mourn 
You  seem  so  much  a  man, 


58  "THE    SUGAR    CAMP    IN    EARLY    SPRING. 

I  am  inclined  to  think  the  loss 
Is  other  than  a  ban. 

And  yet  'tis  tender  business  this, 
To  rightly  touch  the  heart, 

Which  even  long  ago  was  called 
From  troth  or  kin  to  part. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


MY   COMRADE'S   GRAVE. 

A     CHRISTIAN,  comrade,  son,  and  friend 

Is  slumbering  'neath  this  sod; 
His  form  is  there,  his  name  with  us, 
His  spirit  with  his  God. 


Fit  place  it  is  for  hero's  grave, 
Where  mountain  zephyrs  play; 

Where  fair  ones  bring  the  choicest  flowers, 
And  good  men  pause  to  pray. 

To  designate  his  sepulcher, 

We  raise  this  shaft,  but  trust 
His  deeds  shall  live  when  monuments 

Are  crumbled  into  dust. 

*  John  J.  Bisbee,  of  Worthington. 


A   TRIBUTE. 

TV^IND,  Christian  lady,  faithful  friend, 

Accept  each  humble  line, 
Inscribed,  in  heartfelt  praise,,  to  worth 
And  noble  deeds  like  thine. 

How  wise  thy  words,  and  fitly  said  ; 

They  guide,  encourage,  cheer ; 
Dispel  the  darkness  of  defeat, 

With  hope  displacing  fear. 

Some  kindnesses  are  burdensome, 

In  fact,  designed  as  debts; 
Not  thine,  these  favors,  which,  increased, 

But  multiply  regrets. 


A    TRIBUTE. 

Like  showers  thy  benedictions  come, 

Refreshing  as  the  dew  ; 
Delightful  as  the  morning  sun, 

Or  as  the  upper  blue. 

Ah  !  gentle  friend,  how  bright  the  earth 

In  every  clime  would  be, 
Did  all  admire  and  practice,  too, 

Unselfishness  like  thee.- 


THE   SWEETHEART. 

OO  bold,  should  one  of  you  accuse 

That  some  sweet  girl  inspires  my  muse, 
To  all  the  rest  it  would  be  news, 
But  not  to  me. 

She  never  tells  the  blessed  fact, 
By  any  word  or  any  act, 
Evincing  such  consummate  tact, 
To  keep  it  hid 

She  is  not  reckoned  on  the  list, 
Of  those  who  try  to  "keep  it  whist;" 
And  in  the  search  she  might  assist, 
And  no  one  guess. 


THE    SWEETHEART.  65 

We'll  keep  the  secret  a  little  more, 
Then,  as  so  many  have  before, 
We'll  seek  the  parson's  friendly  door, 
And  tell  it  there. 


A   MODEL   SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 

A     SUNDAY-SCHOOL  our  special  charge, 

Wherein  the  little  and  the  large, 
Shall  sweetest  truths  of  gospel  learn  ; 
Do  greatest  work,  nor  smallest  spurn  ; 
But  deem  it  ever  grandest  lot, 
To  gather  in  from  hall  and  cot, 
From  way-side  stroll,  or  nursery  door, 
The  children  of  the  rich  and  poor, 
And  teach  them  from  the  gospel  word 
The  record  of  the  blessed  Lord, 
Who  came  to  earth,  and  took  our  dust, 
And  died  to  give  us  chance  to  trust. 
No  bashful  boy  without  our  door, 


A    MODEL    SUNDAY-SCHOOL.  6/ 

Shall  weep  that  no  one  prizes  more, 
Nor  asks  to  have  a  place  within 
The  walls  designed  to  fence  out  sin. 
We  welcome  each,  and  welcome  all, 
And  at  the  joy-inspiring  call, 
Of  Sabbath  bell,  on  Sabbath  morn, 
When  brightest  smiles  his  face  adorn, 
And  at  the  eve,  and  through  the  week, 
Each  teacher  will  for  learners  seek, 
And  seek  them  gladly,  grandly,  too, 
As  angels  highest  errands  do. 


WHEN    YOU    AND    I    WERE   BOYS. 

\\  7E  count  above  our  common  good, 

Selectest  cf  our  joys, 
What  people  did  in  sunny  times, 
When  you  and  I  were  boys. 

'Mid  lilacs  and  the  clover  bloom, 

Our  early  moments  ran  ; 
And  happy  in  the  songs  of  birds, 

We  journeyed  up  to  man. 

These  scenes  so  blest  to  realize, 

Are  brighter,  brighter  far, 
That  memory  doth  with  golden  key 

The  gates  of  light  unbar. 


WHEN    YOU    AND    I    WERE    BOYS.  69 

What  other  cure  the  world  prescribes, 

By  far  the  safest,  best, 
Is  glancing  at  our  early  days, 

Is  retrospect  and  rest. 

From  cares  and  crowds  of  urban  life, 

From  traffic  of  the  town  ; 
From  wearing  toil  in  dust  and  din, 

From  griefs  that  weigh  you  down  ; 

From  present  ill,  and  future  dread, 

And  all  that  fetters  thee, 
Come  to  the  country  and  the  past, 

Be  innocent  and  free. 

Review  the  scenes  of  early  days, 
With  kind,  religious  care  ; 


7°  WHEN    YOU    AND    I    WERE    BOYS. 

The  neighborhood  once  all  your  world, 
And  every  object  there. 

The  pansied  yard,  the  slant  well-sweep, 

And  apple  orchard  near; 
The  ancient  farm-house,  broad  and  red, 

By  many  memories  dear ; 

The  hay-field  and  the  pasture  wide, 

The  fences  by  the  lane; 
The  thick-leafed  maples  where  you  hid 

When  pattered  down  the  rain  ; 

The  road  where  erst  the  stage-coach  ran, 

You  studied  as  it  passed  ; 
That  yellow  coach  with  "thorough-brace," 

And  built  to  have  it  last ; 


WHEN    YOU    AND    I    WERE    BOYS.  71 

The  level  and  the  hilly  road, 

On  which  you  trudged  to  school, 

To  "  make  your  manners  "  and  to  learn 
Hard  Colburn's  sum  and  rule  ; 

The  school-house  with  its  seats  and  stove, 
And  desks  where  jack-knives  wrought, 

And  all  the  friendships  that  arose 
'  Twixt  teacher  and  the  taught  ; 

The  ancient  church  and  man  of  prayer, 

And  gracious  words  and  looks  ; 
The  lessons  of  the  Sunday  class, 

And  pleasant  Sunday  books— 

These,  and  the  thousand  other  scenes 
Thine  early  being  knew 


/2          WHEN  YOU  AND  I  WERE  BOYS. 

Shall  bring  thee  blessed  light  and  balm, 
And  keep  thee  fresh  and  true. 

By  frequently  reviewing  them, 
Thou  shalt  be  young  till  death 

Shall  lift  thee  to  the  rarer  bliss 
Of  everlasting  breath. 


THE   YANKEE   WESTWARD. 

T  N  every  western  state  they  are, 

True  sons  of  Yankee  land, 
With  earnest  heart  and  buoyant  hopes, 
And  ready,  skillful  hand  ; 

With  native  wit  and  lore  of  books, 
Clear  fire  and  common  sense; 

With  grit  and  patience  to  endure 
And  earnestness  intense. 

They  go  with  lasting  faith  and  pluck, 

A  freshness,  and  a  trust, 
They  kept  alive  when  erst  they  laid 

The  Briton  in  the  dust ; 


74  THE    YANKEE    WESTWARD. 

To  fell  the  forest  and  to  build 

The  railway  and  the  mill ; 
A  pilgrim  school  in  every  glen, 

A  church  on  every  hill ; 

To  fence  and  till  in  yeoman  farms, 

The  prairie  and  ravine, 
And  build  smart  cities,  in  the  wilds 

Where  Indian  foot  hath  been. 

They  go  to  win  a  lasting  name 
For  Yankees  and  the  right, 

And  show  to  "redskin,"  Dutch  and  Celt, 
Their  shrewdness  and  their  might ; 

To  utilize  the  beautiful, 
The  useful  beautify  ; 


THE    YANKEE    WESTWARD.  75 

The  toiler's  station,  and  his  work, 
With  art  to  dignify. 

They  go  to  win  achievements  grand 

In  all  the  arts  of  peace, 
And  lead  the  van  of  progress,  till 

Time's  course  at  last  shall  cease. 

Fear  not  that  in  this  boundlessness 

The  Yankee  will  be  lost, 
Though  not  the  farthest  western  wild 

But  his  sure  foot  hath  crossed. 

All  that  is  sacred,  fresh,  or  strong, 

In  Plymouth  Rock  and  shore, 
Transplanted  in  the  widening  West, 

Shall  live  for  evermore. 


/6  THE    YANKEE    WESTWARD. 

And  so,  Utopia  realized, 
Our  land  shall  be  adored, 

Till  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth, 
Are  kingdoms  of  the  Lord. 


THE    CRITICS. 

'THHE  wicked  wish  some  critics  have, 

And  knack,  and  greed,  to  kill 
May  pass  quite  readily  for  taste, 
And  evidence  of  skill ; 

But  were  there  none  to  write  a  rhyme, 

Or  paragraph  of  prose, 
How  critics  then  would  pass  their  time, 

Is  more  than  mortal  knows. 

They  might  ascend  the  upper  spheres 

And  criticise  the  stars, 
And  teach  good  manners  and  good  sense 

To  Jupiter  and  Mars  ; 


THE    CRITICS. 

Then  clip  away  old  Saturn's  rings 

And  set  him  bounds  to  run  ; 
Or  venture  near  the  solar  fires 

To  regulate  the  sun. 

And  should  these  critics  go  to  Heaven, 

Their  joy  would  be  to  tell 
How  saints  might  tune  their  harps  correct, 

Or  sing  hosannas  well  ! 


CHICAGO'S    TRIAL   BY    FIRE. 

'  I  VHE  proudest  city  of  the  West 

In  desolation  laid, 
Chicago  mourns  her  fortunes  burned, 

Like  gossamer  they  fade. 
The  meager  cot,  the  grand  hotel, 

The  depot  and  exchange, 
Are  swept  within  the  marching  flame, 

Whose  onward  maddening  range 

Devours  a  league  of  marble  wealth, 
And  brings  to  naught  the  great, 

At  yester-eve  who  sat  apart, 
Ensconced  in  princely  state  ; 


So  CHICAGO'S  TRIAL  BY  FIRE. 

"  And,  musing  on  their  large  success, 

Planned  larger  wealth  to  gain  ; 
But  learn  so  soon,  how  sadly  true, 
That  human  hopes  are  vain. 


Men  of  all  stations  hurry  forth, 

Rank  now  a  thing  unknown, 
And  'scape,  if  so  the  flames  permit, 

The  fiery,  widening,  zone, 
Whose  devastating  sweep  doth  blot 

The  grandest  works  of  men  ; 
As  though  the  ancient  Sodom  scourge 

Had  rained  on  earth  again. 

Large  pity  for  the  desolate, 
And  reverence  for  God, 


CHICAGO'S  TRIAL  BY  FIRE.  Si 

Are  lessons  of  this  ordeal 

As  spreads  the  news  abroad. 
Then  pour  your  wealth  and  comforts  in 

To  mend  the  losses  made, 
And  ask  the  Lord  to  bid  the  fire, 
"  Let,  here,  thy  waves  be  stayed." 

God's  judgments  are  inscrutable, 

But  wisely  all  designed  ; 
Or  fire,  or  flood,  or  pestilence, 

Or  devastating  wind. 
And  grand  the  city  shall  arise 

From  ruins  of  to-day ; 
And,  in  the  future  of  the  land, 

Hold  on  its  prosperous  way. 

Springfield,  October  9,  1871. 
6 


"THE    PAPER." 

T3E  it  the  ponderous  city  print, 

Depicting  urban  ways, 
With  columns  crowded  with  details 

Of  enterprise  and  frays  ; 
Or,  less  pretentious  and  disturbed, 

The  country  weekly  calm, 
Delighting  well  the  villagers 

With  sentences  like  balm  ; 

It  hath  important  mission,  fraught 
With  all  that  blesses  earth, 

And  often  maps  the  surest  road 
To  usefulness  and  worth. 


"  THE    PAPER."  83 

It  hath  the  ward  of  interests 

High,  ever-during,  great ; 
Minute  as  little  hamlets  are, 

And  wide  as  is  the  state. 

The  writer  at  his  paragraphs, 

The  printer  working  by  ; 
I  pray  their  health  and  happiness  ^ 

May  never  come  to  "pi  ;" 
And  that  the  sheet  they  print  may  live 

For  many  years  to  come, 
Prepaid,  respected,  and  the  light 

Of  rail-car,  'Change  and  home. 


M191945 


qs'3 


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